Purpose

At times,
I feel the seconds,
of the time given to me
ticking and toking
I feel it as visible as...

the throb of the heart
caged inside my chest

the pensive chair, rocking
back and forth

the trickling drops
of a leaking tap
that cannot withhold itself

the one-eyed blinkers of vehicles
raring to head left or right

the blinking series of tiny lights
hung outside on name boards,
outside of shops

the waves on the beach shore
marching ahead and receding

the alternating shriek of
the red-blue sirens, belonging
to a speeding ambulance

the dripping glucose lining up,
waiting to be infused
into my recuperating bloodstream.

I lucidly see the purpose
of this feeling...
and yet, I fail to act, to do, and
deliver with all my might.

Yours Lovingly

Here, now... 
I feel your dead weight on me.
Don't you worry
I'll take care of thee.

I am your sounding board
when you are all alone
You can lay on me
and take a stroll, out 
in your dreamy starry world.

I'll lend my ears
and listen to your murmurs
I'll show you the morning light
until your darkness is out of sight
When you have troubled thoughts, 
O dear,
I'll let you soak me with your tears.

You can count on me
all through your life.
I'll be by your side, and
give you a calm and clear mind
even when you are full of strife.

Now that you've heard what I said
come let's sleep tight...

This is your loving bed.

Today

How much I yearn to say
'I missed you today,
after you left!'

I have second thoughts, and 
stop my flow of thoughts.
I want to validate and 
re-validate, and 
want to test if it would
fade and die.
I repeat the words in my head,
and with a deep sigh,
I check if it would feel
wierd to say so.

I ask myself, 'so what'
and then ask
'will it stay if I say it aloud'
I tell myself
'it is better to stay sad
than to feel sorry'
I also ask 
'are they fleeting thoughts', and 
'what if I do not miss 
after a while'

Well, well...! 
We all know well enough, essentially, 
that is what happens...
We miss people, and then,
we get used to it.

~Dated - May 02, 2019

Bitterness

I've tried...
Enduring you
Being indifferent to you
Tried to avoid you, and
Ignore you.
Confrontation just doesn't work!

You come back, fall back,
and persevere.
And leave a bad taste 
in my mouth.

Like an ocean of bile
in my stomach.

I

The deafening thunderous applause
you give yourself
after you bend and break...

Wish I could learn from you,

Oh! Waves...

Bad Definition of Karma

Knitting together events that gratify your sadistic vengeful self.

Suicide

Autumn was almost done, and
I was at the park bench
lying supine.

The trees exposed the bare blue sky
through the loosely knit mesh
that it weaved, from
the remains of the paling green leaves.

As a gush of wind swiftly blew
the last few hurriedly fell off
severing itself from the cords, which
nourished them for so long.

They came down
like lovers in disappointment,
falling off a cliff.

Brown: Our Marriage

We are mostly brown
but then,
you are Khakhi 
and I am Beige

That is where we 
intersect and bifurcate

The Music in my House

Oh! the voices...
Of the dramatic cello
the sad violin, and 
the mellifluous flute.
I am not trained in them
yet
I can play them well, when 
in my act
I am not too cautious or slow

My heart is calm and still
my mind is unoccupied, 
and
I can hear the occupants 
of my house
play the note equally well
with precisely,
the same tone and pitch 


Three cheers...
To the dear, creaking doors 
for bringing music into my house!

Mosquitoes and Butterflies

If you come to think of it
butterflies that sip the nectar
from the flowers
do not deserve 
to be considered as divine
When,
the sinister mosquitoes
do the same job.

Both are equally devoted.

And yet, we yearn to hold one
by their arms
And, with the other,
we gnash,
and vengefully smash, and squash
between our palms.

Inference
One: Looks can be deceiving.
Two: As long as mankind is not bothered,
he would pass any harm and discomfort
as poetry.

The Clothesdoctor

I've known this puny guy and been seeing him for over three years, I guess. And, he is probably the only person to whom I have spoken far less than he has spoken to me. But then, I don't have any feelings of him stalking me, or something. I have never had feelings of indifference as well, so, you cannot attribute or imagine that to be the reason. I meet him every weekend without fail. He addresses me fondly, says a meek 'hi', checks on me if I've not turned up for a long time. He remarks that I am early or late, if I turn up so. In return, I just smile at him, or just say a word or two... at the max, I have given him warm courtesies. Despite such limited acts of reciprocation, he even advises me to take it easy on myself if I look tired and worn out; he has asked me to try lighter acts like yoga, which happens in the park nearby, at almost the same time I end up on the road, for my sprightly morning runs.

Don't bother guessing... He is the clothesdoctor stationed at the bunk in the street corner, ironing out the clothes and bringing them out of their mess.

My Writings

My writings:

At times,
too long for poetry,

yet,
too sweet for prose.

My growing love for lists

Friends who lend time, unjudging ears
Stillness that accepts things and moves on
un-yearning heart
serenity from listening to a piano
faith in God, hopefulness
the sustaining spirit
being self-sufficient, complete, and enough
feeling of confidence in your stride, and
unwavering determination
awareness of what is right, and
knowing what to do
patience implanted by a good book

Warmth of food on your palate
pleasure of smooth chocolate
sprightliness from cold, tangy juice

Heart that spells, mind that listens, memory that retains
impulse to leave the job at hand and start writing

Compass

Babe,
You are the compass
How would you get lost?

Salt Puddle

I was sitting on the park bench,
my retreat after the refreshing run
With my head drooping down
arms affixed and shank hanging loose

Not bothering to wipe my brows
I let the sweat drip down
And one of them lands itself 
on the edge of the bench

One or two of the curious, playful
small black ants
check on their new-found puddle

Time ticks away, and 
a lot more swarm around it
Now, I realize that they were sipping
like it was some nectar

After a while, the pool shrinks to half
disappearing imperceptibly
alike a sinking sun,
that you cannot see descending

Dead End

When we look for on-the-go directions to a destination,
a dead end also indicates direction.

Move on.

Orphans

We sway together
to the tunes of the wind
We grow together
in the warmth of the sun
We shed together
in the seasons of change
We weep together
to the sadness of the rain

At the treetops we are entwined
and cannot tell apart
each of our twigs or branches
Our roots are different
and far apart
We are the leaves of the trees
across an avenue

Siblings and Marriage

We still can enjoy nectar
from the pulp
of the cane
that you have chewed.

Avenues of Warmth

Words

Time

Thoughts

Poetry

Music

Cotton

Conversations

Shells

I pluck beautiful thoughts
from the mind tree
of my beautiful orchard
during my morning runs,
like
the kid picking and sorting
lovely sea shells
from the beach sand.